A Tyrant's Nightingale
by Doughnut of Ericks
Summary: Battousai, a king who thrived on bloodshed on the verge of a vast empire. On destiny's night, amongst ... Kanryuu's castle, was the voice of a tyrant's nightingale, pleading for her phantom freedom. Instead, she is bound to the manslayer for all eternity
1. Euthoria

A/N: HIYEE!!! Remind me never to take Tampico Juice and Soybean Chocolate Milk together, at 12:19 in the morning. It makes me hyper. Plus leaving me "Jak and Daxter" at my disposal. Muwahaha. (*makes peace sign* I'm a video game freak.) Oh, to the point . . . lookie, mommy, there goes a flying cow, cuddling a chocolate soybean. Not the point, actually. Enough of my mumbling about soybeans, on with the show. Tally-ho!!! Enjoy the story.  
  
Chapter One - Euthoria  
  
Tales were told beneath the scarce light of the moon by a legend that fortold the redemption of time's greatest conqueror.  
  
At an era in which bloodshed was a familty to your own, and "safety" was a forbidden, foreign curse, Hitokiri Battousai was a man who thrived on power and bloodshed, a thriving king on the verge of a vast empire. On the eve of a solo night, amongst the blaring flames of Kanryuu's castle, was the voice of a tyrant's nightingale, pleading for her phantom freedom. Instead, she received eternity bound to the legendary manslayer, as his single salvation from insanity's grasp.  
  
"Bombay sapphires on his wrist . . . Drinking blood of hit and miss . . . Take them, tyrants, hear their pleads . . . of mundane thoughts and logic weeds."  
  
Such a wry song coming from the flames of what has been "a palace once of wealth and greed," like the virgin drowning in the sharks of a teahouse, it stood erect, from the crackle and flame, from the sight in which the Battousai took pleasure in conceiving. Yet, there it rang like a tintabulation of an afternoon abbey bell, in the flames of Kanryuu's "grand" manor, or the petty bonfire it stood as it was now. Here a man, corrupted and rivaled, scorched on his journey to hell, where the demon who sent him was to meet at the time of his death.  
  
Battousai. A man to be feared by all, in all countries subsided to their knees, yet they met their deaths, with their farewell adieu being the bloodshot ambers of this beast. He was king to a new empire, succeeding in which his illegimate father had no point in conquering. The world.  
  
His life's purpose was the bring all of the world to the filthy home of the dirt, to worship, obey, and be slaughtered if any rebelled against his reign. He was now an emperor to a new era, where children would be burnt to ashes if parents were careless vigilantes with romantic, unrealistic ideals of the future where their descendants knew not the stench of your opponent's blood, but the fragrance of fragility in peace. The idea disgusted him to no end.  
  
There, before him, stood aflame the dire consequence of doggedness. Death. Kanryuu, foolish man.  
  
Battousai had not prepared to be drawn to this siren's song like a moth upon a flame. However, curiousity and intrigue overpowered this manslayer, overpowered his perfected self-control. What else was he to have done than follow its melodius captivation?  
  
With his death-defying speed that claimed Battousai as immortal, he entered the flame and its building, reckless of the pleas from his soldiers. He was deaf to all sound, except that voice . . . a key that unlocked the desires of his own stoical heart, repressed from a decade's silence.  
  
Then before him, amongst the birdcages hung from god-like heights, as if displayed by giants themselves, was the unconscious figure of a maiden in her dollhouse cage. A bird captive in its jail.  
  
Taking the hilt of his sword, swung and succeeded in tearing the lock in which kept this nightingale in her prison, his eyes feasting on the beauty of this one such creature. Not to be swayed by any mortal beauty, by any woman, before him was the epitomy, the end of his streak in which he remained indifferent to a woman's "feelings," if such existed.  
  
Her skin, an ivory seal upon those ample curves that hung every man's desire. Upon the clear vision of her back was two intricate mercury wings, such a sign that which possession laid role. It was a trademark of Kanryuu. His self-control was once again tested to his limits. Captived, he could not merely walk away from this treasure, even if it meant the lives of his men, of his own. Reality assaulted him with brutal force. With such romantic thoughts, how was the Hitokiri Battousai to take an empire and set power amongst every fiber of his being. How, if one has a weakness?  
  
"Lustful expectations (L.E. fans. You know what I'm taling about). Damn it, bitch. Just lust." Oblivious to his actions, fingers that has known blood as its companion pierced through the silks of her skin that lay vulnerable on the curveous neck that belonged to only women. Bloodlust, the manslayer injures the wound even to the farthest extent, sinking his canine teeth (Sounds like Inu-Yasha.), lapping the red liquid as if a fountain of youth.  
  
To him, it was a savory delight. To him, a beast ... part wolf demon, such a delicacy should stay forbidden. And it was all his, his to abuse, his to insue tender care, his to savor. His alone.  
  
Processors before him took their mates with brutal force, with such vitality in the masculine plane. Battousai took an intake of her scent, clearly sensing the natural arousal from her body's responses. In which, he had the urges, one of a demon's strength, to engorge himself in her warmth, until he was satisfied.  
  
Amongst, all the flames of hell incarnated?  
  
Hard and obstinate, Battousai gave the gods his cry of irritance that shattered euthoria's walls and echoed past heaven into the unreturning void. Then the ashed walls of Kanryuu's empire fell that night the legendary manslayer captured his redemption: the tyrant's nightingale.  
  
Yet all the gods could hear was the constant mantra of the enraged individual, of one that would surpass history with his wrath.  
  
"Mine. She is all mine." 


	2. Nirvana

Chapter Two - Nirvana  
  
"Hear those prey children . . . with tears that cannot fend . . . like cascades in nirvana . . . who traced pictures with their blood."  
  
Like who thrist for eternity's period, breathing no other breath except suffocation, the nightingale, awoken, took a gallant breath as if she took her first taste of air.  
  
"Where am I?" Became the words that confusion would expressive, could expressive. Nothing could be answered in return, for the room she inhabited was bathed in a cruel obsidian darkness. Underneath her fingers was the China's silks, like of what she dreamt all through the times and lives that past as she remained Kanryuu's "precious" porcelain nightingale, a prize to uphold.  
  
To sing her lifetime in songs of definite depression, for that was the solo emotion that ran through the young maiden's veins every minute of every day. Informed of nothing, knowing oblivious, all that this "curse" recollected was the flash of irrepressable desire when someone whispered possession in ways called to only a woman.  
  
"Mine. She is all mine."  
  
In contrast with the demons in the dark were the virginal glow of moomnlight streaming patterns on her skin, the girl took a few steps forward to view the new world that she became imprisoned in. Beyond the moonlight rivers and pearl oceans held the silowhette of a stranger. Aligned with sweat, his muscles pulsated with the strength of his exercise, which currently was some sort of swordsplay. It was beauty, masculine lithe in all actions.  
  
A refine dance, intricate, made for beautiful men which held power in all aspects of his life. From this distance, she could tell this spirit embraced power and bloodshed as his only lover. For this, he was cold and relentless, glass that could never be shattered, steel that no one could deform.  
  
I crept closer, clinging to the bare moonlight that highlighted his performance. Suddenly, my heartbeat sped gradually, as his impulsive action was one of the most carnal sights I've known to endure. The sliver of tongue graced his wound, continually. Yet his eyes, orbs of amber that held power in grasp, captured my gaze. There was some obscene pleasure found in those amber gaze, as if he found some ecstasy in my faint obsession of the eye. His tongue swept across the blood-stained lips, as if a treat had been devoured and missed.  
  
Sure enough, this innocent child-woman was captivated, with his eyes and his act. Seduction in its simplest forms appeared to have formed.  
  
"Seduced she had become. . . Revolted the nightingale never will . . . For purposes she knows not . . . For purposes her soul will never seek."  
  
To this I sung with the curse I've been born with to bear for the rest of my days, the curse that brought me to imprisonment once more. Purpose only to serve as an instrument of the mighty: a tyrant's nightingale.  
  
Beyond the power soiled in his amber depths, the virgin could sense the reckless abandon of pain and solitary confinement of his emotions. Heedless to say, the man dealt with pain without the shed of a tear, or a cry of woe. All to say was that his pain was his anger. And his anger became the heart in which countries bow to their knees.  
  
Yet he will die a lonely man, pitiful in every sense of humanity. When power is no longer a necessity for him, emotion plays no role in his soul. He will simply die in body as in soul.  
  
"Pity. I have pity towards a manslayer who sheds blood and knows no mercy. For it is rather a sad ending to his tragic tale, far tragic than those of his victims. Because . . . he knows not what death does to his own. Ironic, really."  
  
"Why should you ever pity a man who deserves none? It insults me to think I should receive pity at all. What makes you in belief that I would allow you? You gave you the right to show such petty emotion? Don't, just don't."  
  
His words were a clear statement across the room, even across the inky darkness. There he stood, masculine and power in every aspect of his figure . . . a king who made no atonement towards others. Never had she seen such a creature who birthed so many ripples against the horizon of her skin.  
  
Again, those amber orbs pierced where no sword could not slay. Through the soul.  
  
"Tell me, why don't you want to receive pity? You deserve every single bit of it . . . every cruel and tantalizing stroke of this weakness, this emotion should be yours and yours alone. For it is you would dies every time, you massacre life. You kill your own."  
  
Sword, used for the purpose of manslaughter, was drawn from his side, glinting underneath the sliver of moon. Soon enough, it neared the very curve on her throat in attempt to mark scars seen by the phyiscal eye. Instead of those cold ambers, it burned a passionate golden, out of anger and rage. It was hell incarnated.  
  
"Never had a person seduced such thoughts of death as you do. Never had I lost my cold front except for you who stand before me. Tell me, do you fear for your life? Do fear me?"  
  
"I fear not that I would lose my life, for I have attained none. It is gone, perished with this curse whom I bear like stained blood in shape of cross in a world who shunned the living presense of difference. Tell me, Battousai. What else would I fear losing when I am just a mere body with no soul? Why should I fear to lose what I have none of? Why should I fear a man who fears his own destruction?"  
  
True to all my declarations, I stood an even front, as cold and unwavering as he.  
  
"Damn it, woman!!! You don't know what I could do to you. I am a man who memorizes death himself . . . things far greater than death. I fear none."  
  
"What could be far greater than death?"  
  
At this question, he neared ever so closer to his next victim, which would not lay vulnerable to his trickery. As his journey towards the minute shadow of his target, the Hitokiri Battousai appeared more corrupted and omnipotent than before. Each step causing him to rise miles above all else. Only mere inches from her body, all the nightingale could see were those amber hues, in rage, in anger, and in passion. (Not sexual passion, freaks. Passion for killing. Gawd, people are such assholes.)  
  
"Insanity." Fingering a lock of hair between his callous hands, it was as if he held perspective in every action, in every caress of the fingers. There existed lay cold potential for compassion. Then he took a wiff from the ebony trails of silk which was vulnerable to his omnipotency.  
  
"What difference is it to the insane and sane? I could sense your vulnerability." To her statement, her fingers, softer than heaven's clouds, lightly kissed the temples of his face, trailing to his prominent cheekbones, to those enigmatic depths of amber. Suddenly, with the speed of light and time, his own fingers seized the fragile wrists, bringing them above the heights of her head.  
  
"Compassion. What does a man who seeks no weakness need compassion for? Again, you know not what you are doing. Nor, what would become of you once I'm through. So I suggest, you halt your action, woman." His fingers trailed to the mark stained on the ivory contours of her flesh, in friction with the callouses embedded on his own skin.  
  
"You see this. You are now of my possession . . . you belong to me."  
  
His head drew nearer to the spot; the brevity of his breath was apparent on her skin. Hungry, the king took it into possession, like a man who held starvation as his soul, who thirst for the sweetness of his woman. The velvet feel of the tongue had inhabited every pore.  
  
"Here, you starve. Yet, I know you grief as well. Stop pretending, Battousai."  
  
Words brought his teeth down on the wound, blood surfacing to the skin's horizon. Harder and in rage, the man brought a harsher rythmn (spelling?) to his war cry.  
  
"You taste sweet, bitch."  
  
Her voice was no more than a whisper, yet her words was a katana through a man's flesh, dangerous and true.  
  
"Battousai, pity has found you again. Weep, it would not make you any less a man to cry."  
  
Deeper, his teeth plundered the sweet liquid, scarlet upon his lips. Her cry could be heard from miles. It was of an innocent girl massacred by this beast. A malicious grin etched upon her skin. His tongue than tended to the newly-made wound.  
  
"If only I could taste all of you, I would give my men, my power, my all. You speak in lies, for this you must be punished."  
  
The words that would pass through her lips brought the widening of his eyes in sudden shock for the very first time.  
  
"I forgive you . . . you are a man, a wounded creature. You may drain me from all these mortal necessities, but I will assist you in your atonement. I will bring your humanity back. This I swear my life."  
  
Left in the blanket of darkness was the silowhette of a man encripted in stone, embracing the slumbering figure of a virgin sacrafice.  
  
"Damn, woman. What has she done?"  
  
A/N: Whatcha think? And to that bastard reviewer that said that I should be ashamed for asking reviews in return for chapter update, a message to her: it's not like I get paid to write these cheap stories, so butt off my 15 minutes of glory. I have no shame to my current occupation; it might be cheap to you, but hell, it's not like I care what you think. *turns into angel mode* Thank you all for reviewing, please forgive me for that rather crude comment I made towards a . . . erm, comment. It's just that when I have something to say, I say it. So, por favor, don't shun away constructive critisism and/or reviews because I acted like a PMS-ed bitch. *smiles* 


	3. Ecstasy

Chapter Three - Ecstasy  
  
A/N: Here it is again. Swallow it like a man. You man!  
  
Disclaimer: It belongs to me, I swear it does. *looks over to Kenshin tied in ropes and taped around the mouth* Right, Kenshin? It doesn't, but hell, a girl can dream. It belongs to those rich and powerful people who made Rurouni Kenshin, and since I'm not rich or powerful, it ain't me. IT AIN'T ME!!!  
  
Here the story goes . . .  
  
"Plead me, plead me, whisper your troubles into mine, Feed me, feed me, quench the hunger they can't be surpressed."  
  
The night was a buffet filled with the glory of emotions, of surprises, of bewitching. Here, stabled and solitary, was a lone figure against the firm walls of his room. Here, was where the Battousai merely rested, for sleep never comes to those who shed enough blood to overflow the world. There, the massive bed held no purpose, just capturing the moonlight with its velvet contours.  
  
His head leaned to the wall, caring not of the discomfort, but of the mental nightmares that doesn't seize night after night. A continuous cycle of endless dreams that haunted the manslayer, that haunted his humanity. Words of babble and nonsense escaped his parched lips, sending obvious symbols of his mental wars. It was a discomfort, until a presense could be heard through the darkness of his nightmares.  
  
Before her minute hand could touch any graph of skin, his reflexes seized the frail digits, nearly crushing them to filmy powder. A gasp could be heard, clearly not expecting another frightful act of violence from the man.  
  
"Why must you bother me incessantly? Can there be peace and obedience from a slave?"  
  
Innocently, her other hand caressed the callous grip upon hers, gently scraping his skin with her feathery touch. An invisible wind sending stalks of hair to rise from their natural graves. Then she raised her eyes to level with his, yet they held no fear or hatred, or some emotion akin to those two familiar factors. It was of compassion. Compassion tasted foreign to his lips, like a sweeter wine savored, yet not known as familiar to the tongue. At this thought, he turned away in disgust.  
  
What is compassion to a man who thought of it as a weakness?  
  
"You are suffering, my lord. Not from the cold or discomfort. But from the heart. You ail from nighmares. Battousai, let me console you. I am your slave, as you claim I am, let me bring you your salvation."  
  
"I don't need help from anyone. My nightmares are of my own. Silence, woman. Keep your silence." His voice was a steel blade against the porcelain feel of a virgin's skin. Yet her expression was made of human emotions, of too much compassion and love towards all, that it was an act of immortality for mortals.  
  
"Sleep, Battousai. Never shall you be lingered with these horrid dreams. Never shall you lay blaim for your mother's death."  
  
Between the process of declaring such a decalaration, his head was brought to her lap, scarlet hair adorned by her faint hues in silk. The hand grazing soft comfort to his head, brushing the blood-stained tresses with her motherly touch. He look upward to her face, to captivate the moment of utter silence to find such a pain-stricken face that held such age-old pain, distorting her innocent curves to pitying eyes. Shortly, her breath grew short, as tears threatened to make an exit.  
  
"You live in such pain. Such pain."  
  
At that moment, his eyes widened at her words, unable to grasp the warmth stirring his heart and soul, for no one had played such a compassion act towards the legendary manslayer, a monster who lived to conquer and knew not of mercy for the ill-treated. It sent him such bittersweet anguish and emotions that the Battousai withered in confusion.  
  
"How do you know this? What do you know of my pain, of how I killed my mother?"  
  
"Because, as the nightingale, I ease your troubles, but in the process I accumulate your pain in return for your salvation. Your humanity for my suffrage. 'Tis why Kanryuu kept me as his possession. To keep his insanity, that corrupted, poor man."  
  
Kanryuu? Poor? Considered a man? Battousai tried to enterprise through her shady depths, in search of some lingering humanity in those milky eyes. However, he found nothing but the reflection of his pain.  
  
"How can you hold such compassion for everyone, no matter what faults they bare? How can a human bear the world's suffering?"  
  
"It is my curse, my atonement. Your salvation. I will be your anchor to humanity. I will be your grip on reality. I will be your sheep."  
  
"Yes, you do. You need it like every man who sheds blood. You need your humanity."  
  
Tips of every finger traced the edges of the Battousai's desolate features, as if she was the blind in search for a mental picture. Blinded, mute, and deaf to all the elements, except her heart which she shed for his salvation, while hers was taken into death's palms.  
  
"Under my palm, I feel your suffering. Hidden secret to the ones who eyes, yet apparent to the ones with the sight. Please tell me, Battousai. What is one thing your heart desires most? Respond not as the Battousai will, but Himura Kenshin, the man behind the mask."  
  
Uncharacteristically, the manslayer tyrant savored the sweet skin against his own, which have been stained by the shower of blood, each and every time death was by his sword. Impulsively, as if the manslayer was under the nightingale's spellbound, he answered her with his childhood fantasy.  
  
"To be loved."  
  
"Then, Battousai, you will be loved, with the most I can offer. Please except this. Please will this to be yours. And I will always adore you. Cherish you. Love you. Because I fear this is the only thing that will keep you from a tyrant's insanity."  
  
Could there be such a creature who would love a murderer? Then his thoughts drifted to the words of yore that passed her lips before, that her services were primarily for Kanryuu. For a man who once touched her . . .  
  
At the very thought, his iron grip clenched the ivory silks, causing her to bruise like a porcelain doll, eyes were possessive amber hues.  
  
"Promise me, under my reign, you will not serve another man, but me. You belong to me, and I alone. Understand?"  
  
Tears found its shelter on the Battousai's crossed-shaped scar. Her tears. Then, she sealed her fate with a kiss upon the scar that held his suffrage and past.  
  
"Love me, Nightingale. And I will keep you mine. Mine as Himura Kenshin. My name is Kenshin, for then you shall call me this."  
  
Her response to his warmest phrase was the innocent of all smiles, it held adoration, adulation, and the roots of friendship.  
  
"Hello, Kenshin. I am Kaoru. Let me be your friend. I hold knowledge that I am of imperfections, but I would adore it if you could except me as your companion."  
  
It was at this very night the Hitokiri Battousai and the Nightingale vanished from existanced to be replaced by a man scared by his past and a woman who offer her heart to the manslayer, no matter the consequences. The night of eternal unity that would shatter the history of the worlds and break the glass barriers between two souls.  
  
A/N: I know that was short, but I couldn't think of much for this scene. *cuddles Bishie doll* Maybe my tiny Kenshin Bishie doll would give me some inspiration.  
  
Five Years Later . . .  
  
*throws Kenshin Bishie to the ground* I can't think of anything, but shit!!! You useless piece of crap.  
  
Kenshin Bishie: Oro. 


End file.
